


Bliss

by Ellienerd14



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cake making boyfriends, Fluff, M/M, Snowbaz spooky week, Spooky Month, spooky fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellienerd14/pseuds/Ellienerd14
Summary: For 'snowbaz spooky week' day two - treat.Simon and Baz have an evening of baking, dancing and spooks.“Is the big, bad, vampire too punk for cupcakes?”





	Bliss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eroticgropefest (goldfishsunglasses)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishsunglasses/gifts).



> Big thanks to Katie for beta-ing and helping me with this. :)

**Baz**

Simon practically tackles me the moment I step into his flat. I smile at him because it’s exactly what I need after a long day of being smarter than everyone else in my Economics class. 

“Guess what I did today?” he asks, practically hopping side to side in excitement. 

“Ate a bag of sugar?” I guess because that’s how he’s acting. It’s cute, I’ll admit. He’s practically glowing with joy. 

Once, even a little snarky remark like that would have made his wings droop and ruin his mood, but we’re at the point where my cunning remarks don’t offend him. It’s nice, actually, to transition from enemies-to-boyfriends to just boyfriends. 

“No, look,” Simon says, picking up his laptop and shoving it into my arms. 

It’s open on a word document. At first, I assume it’s an essay for school, but it’s not. It’s a recipe, I think. Maybe I’m about to be pulled into another round of scone making. We haven’t managed any successful scones yet but magic usually fixes them to an edible stage. 

“I tried to figure out a nice surprise for you. I was going to get coffee, which reminded me of your ridiculous pumpkin mocha  drinks that annoy the staff at every shop we go to. I thought we could try and make some ourselves.” Simon practically trips over his words to explain his new recipe. 

“In cupcake form?” I raise an eyebrow, mostly because Simon can’t raise his own. 

“Is the big, bad, vampire too punk for cupcakes?” Simon teases. “It’s pumpkin, so you can pretend it’s spooky.” 

Simon looks so proud of himself. He’s having a good day, which I know aren’t as common as either of us would like. “Get your shoes on, Snow,” I tell him, “we’re going shopping for ingredients.” 

He beams at me. I can feel myself flush, which is a waste of blood really. I don’t care. Fifth year me couldn’t even dream of this domestic fantasy, of Simon in mismatched socks (one yellow with bats, the other orange and black striped; very seasonal) smiling at the idea of going to Tesco together. I smile too, which I mostly try to avoid. (I have fangs. Also I like to pretend I’m punk.) 

Simon pulls on red converses and a jacket that used to be mine. (It’s a nice one: black denim with faux fur. Perfect for the harsh October weather. It doesn’t even fit him right.) I cast a _‘these aren’t the droids you're looking for’_ on his wings so he doesn’t get any strange looks. Simon smiles at me again, just for the sake of it; I’m blushing again. 

We walk together and I reach out to take his hand. Simon hasn’t got the same radioactive heat as before but he’s still warmer than me. (I could wear gloves but he’d probably steal those too. And his hand is much softer than mine.) 

“You don’t even like my pumpkin mocha breve.” 

Simon laughs, even if I didn’t say a joke. “I like cake.” 

I can’t argue with that. (I could, technically, but I don’t want to.) I lean into him instead, just because. 

We don’t need to buy that much but Simon still insists on pushing around a trolley. We head to the baking aisle where I grab most of the ingredients he had written down. And four different kinds of sprinkles. ( _ Five _ : I need the rainbow ones.) I’m not sure how well our cupcakes will end up but magic fixes most baking mishaps. _ Cherry on top _ is a life saver. 

Simon picks up the kind of tea he knows I like. It really  _ is  _ domestic bliss. 

“You’re smiling.” 

“I’m plotting,” I reply, just to see his reaction. 

“To push me down the stairs?” Simon asks, grinning.

“Like I’d tell you,  _ Snow _ .” 

His grin doesn’t falter. Good. 

I never thought I’d get to make Simon happy. Or that I could ever be happy, let alone because of  _ him _ . Once I thought I’d have to die and now, sometimes, I think he lives for me. 

* * *

 

**Simon**

Penny still isn’t back by the time we return. With no roommates to worry about, Baz connects to her speakers and plays music from his phone. He dances (because he doesn’t know I’m watching) (or he doesn’t care). I watch as he bops around gracefully, black hair swishing. This is more of a treat than any cupcakes could be. 

“Done staring yet Snow?” 

I blush and go back to checking my recipe. Baz doesn’t seem bored; he’s grinning like everything is a joke. 

Last year, this would never had happened. Not the baking, or shopping, or smiling at each other. But it’s easy now - easier than baking for sure. 

“Stop eating the butter!” Baz holds it over my head. I wish my wings actually worked at times like this. “It’s for your cakes.” 

“ _ Our _ cakes,” I correct him. “You’re not getting out of helping me.” 

“Deal.” Baz kisses on the top of my head. It’s probably so he can show off his height, but I blush anyway. (I’ll blame the heat of the oven if he notices.) “Carry on, Simon, but no more eating the ingredients.” 

I snort; like that’s going to happen. I measure out the butter (I do eat some, when his back is turned) and add it to the bowl. Baking is relaxing, no talking is necessary, especially with the music playing in the kitchen. I like silence sometimes. (I’m still not good with my words.) 

I notice Baz eating some of the mixture out the corner of my eye. “No more eating the ingredients,” I mimick. 

“It’s different for me.” 

“How?” 

Baz grins wickedly. “I’m the queen.” 

I roll my eyes. “Queen of the plants,  _ Basil _ .” 

He responds with a polite hand gesture. I roll my eyes again. 

“It’s good.” 

“Really?” I’ve never made up a recipe before (I used the internet to help me write but still…) and I made it just for him. 

“Needs more pumpkin spice,” Baz comments, adding it. “Want to try?” 

I nod. He offers me the spoon and I taste some. It’s good - better than any of our scone attempts - sweet. 

“Look at us Simon, baking experts.” 

“Modest as ever, Baz.” 

He winks. “I am the queen after all.”

I laugh at him and it feels  _ good _ . Everything about today has felt good. I watch Baz put the cakes into the oven, swaying slightly to the music. I love how he dances. 

“Can I have this dance?” I ask, offering a hand. It’s a bit cheesy but I have no regrets. 

Baz leans against the door. “You don’t like dancing.” 

“Baz.”

He takes my hand and puts his arms around my waist. “What the hell, Simon, my beautiful nightmare, let’s dance.” 

* * *

**Baz**

Simon is terrible at dancing. He’s really just shuffling and clinging on to me. He has butter on the side of his mouth. And I’ll have flour on my t-shirt later. 

I don’t care about any of that.

* * *

 

**Simon**

Baz is much better at dancing then me. He has flour in his hair (my fault). And neither of us are in time with the beat. 

I think I can smell burning. 

Baz pouts when I pull away to pull them out. 

“Oh no,” I say, inspecting the slightly blackened cakes.  

He frowns at the burned cakes. “There’s a spell for this, I’m sure.” 

“It was going so well.” 

_ “Cherry on top,”  _ Baz casts, tapping his wand on top of a cupcake. It doesn’t work this time.  _ “A slice of heaven. Sweet dreams are made of these.” _

Nothing works. 

Baz frowns at the tray. “We could try them. They don’t look that burnt.” 

They do, but I try one anyway. The top is beyond saving but the bottom half is actually quite tasty. 

“Icing can fix it, right?” Baz asks, sounding unconvinced. 

“Hopefully,” I answer doubtfully. 

We brought ready-made mocha flavoured icing. It probably saved us another disaster. I eat it with a spoon while the cakes cool down. 

“You’re a bloody mess,” Baz comments. It’s fonder this time, even if he looks vaguely disgusted.  

“You’re so sweet.” 

He smirks. “Only to you Snow.” 

I think he probably means it. Baz isn’t nice to, well anyone. He likes sneering more than smiling and I think he’d wear a cape if he thought he could get away with it. He’s soft around me though. 

“That’s gay.” 

Baz smirks. “Obviously. We should ice these cupcakes before you eat all the icing.” 

“It’s nice!” I protest through a mouthful of mocha flavoured icing. I think his next grimace is genuine. 

“You’re a moron.” 

I smile at him because that’s just how he likes to flirt. 

“A moron with icing on his nose,” Baz adds, wiping it off with his finger. He leans in and kisses the tip of nose. “Just look at you.” 

“Just look at  _ you _ .” I lean up (only slightly) to kiss him properly, cupcakes and half eaten icing forgotten. 

I’m happy to live a life of domestic bliss. 

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write for this ship but since I'm helping with this event, I had to write soemthing!   
> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
